


Boys of Summer

by Tex



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-26
Updated: 2010-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-09 17:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tex/pseuds/Tex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Rodney after Atlantis</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boys of Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my dear Crysothemis and her rocking beta

Rodney loves summer. Even with the heat and the mosquitoes, it's a stretch of lazy time in which nothing, for the most part, needs to get done. On their beach, the transition from spring to summer is a mild one. The nights lose their chilly bite and John starts to come home with a sunburn across his shoulders.

Rodney's pretty sure that John's favorite season is summer; at least, that's where the evidence points. There's more in summer to satisfy that athletic itch in John -- surfing, swimming, skateboarding, running, biking. He can do all those things year round, but the skim of golden sunlight on John's skin, the stroke of warm wind through his hair is the perfect marriage of elements.

When John walks into the house, his wet suit slick and open to expose a wide swath of chest, his bare feet sandy, his hair completely out of control, his face flushed with happiness, Rodney is glad that they took the house on the beach. Missing out on the opportunity to see _that_ several times a week would be a real tragedy.

Today, he kisses John goodbye at their mailbox and watches him ride off toward the bike trail at the end of their road. Rodney takes a moment to admire John's tight ass in his track pants before leaving for several errands in town. By the time he's done, it's past one and he makes the deli his last stop, bringing home lunch for both of them.

Rodney sighs with relief as he shuts the door on the scorching sea breeze and walks into the cool, granite-lined kitchen. He sets all his bags down on the counter and calls out. He pauses to listen, but the house is still and quiet in response. He checks the answering machine on the desk but there are no messages and a slow disquiet begins to sour in his stomach.

It's John's habit to be home at one o'clock. Rodney's often thought that skinny body has the precision of an atomic clock because no matter what he's doing that morning, John is always home by one. Rodney's pretty sure that John does it to humor him so he doesn't worry but it's their system and Rodney has never questioned it.

"John." Rodney is frowning a little as he passes through the sunny living room, glancing past the wall of windows at the deck and the beach beyond, but John's not there, either. Rodney's steps quicken as he approaches the bedroom but everything is as they left it this morning -- the bed unmade, John's book on his bedside table, a folded back issue of Surfer Magazine tucked inside as a bookmark.

Damn John and his extreme sports, anyway, Rodney thinks to himself, the bitter taste of fear filling his mouth as he half-runs toward his office door and the phone. Watching John surf or plunge over the rim of a bowl at the skatepark can be fun and okay, yes, a helluva turn on, but fuck, he might have known that their luck had been too good for too long. Something's happened, he's sure of it.

Rodney strides through the open door, heading straight for the desk. As he reaches for the phone, something catches his eye, just a hint of contrast that shouldn't be there. Rodney glances around and his shoulders slump in irritated relief.

Quietly, he walks over to the sun-filled corner. John's long, golden body, clad in nothing but a pair of blue polka dot boxers, is stretched out on the sectional. He has one leg propped up over the top, one hand resting on his hairy belly and he smells like soap. He's asleep.

Rodney breathes out softly and finds a wedge of cushion to sit down beside him. John loves napping in this spot, although it's too warm for Rodney. Light floods in from two directions and there's quite a reflection off the white twill of the sofa. It's bright and sun-soaked and it's the part of his office that belongs solely to John.

Rodney gives John's warm shoulder a little shake. Slowly, his lids open halfway. "Hey," John says in a sleep-roughened voice.

"Hey," Rodney says, arousal curling in his stomach as John shifts and stretches. "Good ride?"

John closes his eyes again and one side of his mouth curves upward. "Yeah. Good ride."

It's getting a little hard to follow even this simple conversation because John is spread out next to him like a porny buffet and finally, Rodney gives up trying. He leans down to graze one of John's nipples with his teeth. John makes a sound in his throat and he moves restlessly but Rodney forces him still, his hands going to John's hipbones, visible just above the elastic of his boxers.

"I brought lunch." Rodney's words blow hotly against John's skin, as he trails kisses down John's flat stomach, rubbing his thumbs against those maddening hipbones. John arches up against him, sliding one hand in his hair as Rodney mouths his dick through his boxers.

"It can wait," John says thickly and it's summer, so it does.

  



End file.
